#letters to glorfindel

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Letters to Glorfindel - III

There is something in my heart. Something new.

I can't quite describe it, for it is something I have never experienced before. Instead, I find myself trying to soak up and savor each little moment offered to me. The sunshine feels so very warm, warmer than usual. I wake up smiling, thinking of you. Constructing plans to see you again.

I cannot wait. I am burning with impatience.

You ignite something in me, Golden One. And I fear it is only going to grow more.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

So what if the Valar foresaw that a balrog would be reawakened, and sent Glorfindel back as a precaution against this?

Then when Elrond is picking the company that it is Glorfindel’s life’s purpose to be in he gets upped by some silvan weirdo.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

LOTR and The Hobbit NSFW Headcanons pt 2.

(y’all bishes hoooorrrrnnnnyyyyy)

Part 1

Pippin:

- loves when you ride him

- wants to grab and hold every part of you that he can

- forcing him to be a good boy in public and keeping him nice and hot for as long as you can

- whispering really dirty things in his ear in public but following it with a sweet kiss on the cheek so people just think you’ve said something lovely

- ass kinda hobbit

- sitting in your lap and playing with his cock

- “such a good boy for me” you whisper while he cums on your hand

- loves when you grab at his hair during oral

Merry:

- likes to be man handled but in a playful way

- exhibitionist kink

- sweet and playful caresses while he fucks you from behind

- his favourite meal is between your legs 😏😏😏

- will tell you how good you’re making him feel

- buys you pretty night gowns and aprons so he can watch you bake in them

- loves when you put on a show baking, bending over and sitting in his lap while you feed him the cake mix

- holding his face nicely while you bounce on his cock

Lindir:

- degradation and praise all at once

- make him cry! Make him cry! Make him cry!

- overstimulation is his favourite thing

- tie him up and make him cum over and over again

- will beg you to stop but that’s because it makes him horny

- if it was too much he’d use his safe word

- “please mistress, I can’t take it anymore, it hurts too much please!”

- wants to be pegged so badly

- will suck your strap

- it’s so fun to grind up against him and make him cum in his pants

- you do it on purpose but then you tease him about it and he loves it

- “did you just cum in your pants? You’re such a dirty little pathetic thing aren’t you, Lindir?”

- he goes so pink

Frodo:

- has a thing for human partners

- likes feeling small and taken care of but elves are too big

- loves him a squishy partner

- would live laying on your boobs or on your thighs if he could

- pretends he can’t do things like open jars or reach things but home boy gets horny when you take care of him

- playing with his hair is foreplay

- lots of whimpers, light moans and quiet pleas

- if you tug his hair however he’s screaming and eyes are rolling back

- he lives in your lap

Arwen:

- oral queen 👑👑

- could honestly live between your legs

- whispers the dirtiest things to you and yet it sounds like poetry

- talks elvish in your ear while sitting behind you and taking her time playing with you

- the softest dom in the whole world

- like is literally only dominant because she wants to take care of you

- passing you dirty letters while you try to read peacefully

- loves watching you touch yourself

- she won’t say anything but her eyes won’t leave yours or your body

- breathy moans

- loves having her nipples sucked

Meludir:

- sweet innocent boy

- surprisingly kinky but only in a proper relationship

- praise kiiinnnkkk!

- tell him he’s a good boy and he’ll just melt

- “oh you’re doing so well for me, baby, such a good boy”

- kinda likes being hurt but will need a lot more aftercare than usual

- likes being tied up and edged

- is into watching you get fucked by someone else but only if he can join later

- wants Legolas to join you but turns into a blushing mess every time you talk about it

- sit on his face pllleeeaaaaassssseee! He doesn’t care if he can’t breathe

- craves kneeling before you during oral

- wants to feel like your sweet little servant

Glorfindel:

- size kink!!! He’s a huge dude and honestly loves how tiny you are (you could be tall and still be tiny to him!)

- loves being called ‘my lord’

- you don’t have to thank him when you cum but he sure does love it when you do

- degrades you and praises you in the same session

- he likes degrading you and being rough when you give him oral but if he’s fucking you (especially from behind) he wants to tell you how good you’re taking his cock

- gives you very sweet names during very dirty times

- “you’re just such a sweet little thing for me” he tells you while your face is covered in cum and spit

- bounces you on his lap while you ride him

- lots of loud grunts

- rag dolls you around into different positions

- is either fast and rough or takes his time and worships you

- thinks both giving and receiving hickies is really hot and will show them off with pride

[doodle-pops]

Love Scenario

Ecthelion x reader

Request: Hey! Can I request a dating fic between reader and Ecthelion? How does he woo/court her? What about their engagement? Wedding plans? Especially if this is set in Valinor after the FoG, and he’s just come back to life, and like, omg, now I have this lady I want to check out when I’m fresh out of soul prison. He probably relies on Glorfindel a little bit because he’s been more established since the late Second Age and comes from a “house of princes.” - Anon

A/N: As mentioned, I absolutely enjoyed writing this piece for Thel.

Warnings: fluff, humour, Egalmoth and Glorfindel helping their dear best friend, a bit of a sentimental moment, indirect confession

Words: 2.5k

Synopsis: With his return to Valinor and the desperate call to take action, Ecthelion has made it his purpose, day and night, to construct the perfect future for you happily ever after.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Since he returned.”

“…That’s over five months, Laurë!”

A weary side-eye glance at Egalmoth from Glorfindel and the former folded his lip to refocus his attention to their dear friend who was fretting over the right colours to paint the interior of your future house. Ask him if he had plucked the courage to speak to you upon his return and he’d throw swears at his friends. But he was already envisioning his life with you as though the most important action was completed. Dream on.

“Cream, bone white or ivory cream?” Came the steady voice of Ecthelion. In his hands were strips of the colours he suggested and on his face was a panicked expression as though he was running out of time.

Frowning and ready to calm his dear friend, Glorfindel stretched his palms outwards and gently waved them up and down to soothe the madman or rather, elf. “Thel, don’t you think this is all too much? You haven’t even asked—”

“Yes, I just did. What colour should I choose?” Ecthelion enunciated and widened his eyes further to emphasise his point.

At this point, it was Egalmoth to the rescue as he placed the vat of wine down and exhaled, ready to appear as the saviour to most, since all was impossible, of his stress. “What is the purpose of the colours, Thel?”

“Balusters for the balcony,” Ecthelion responded calmly as though you and he were already living together—in his head, you were—and he was tasked with the décor, both interior and exterior.

The room fell into silence as all three Lords were left at one another, or rather both Glorfindel and Ecthelion were left gawking at Ecthelion’s seriousness. Not a stutter or flatter in the batting of his lashes did Ecthelion show any signs of uncertainty when it came to answering their questions. He was indeed picking out the colour of the balusters for the balcony, so when you wished to hang your baskets of flowers or sit in the evening and gaze at the setting sun, whatever you wore would be highlighted by the colour the balusters were.

Tongue in cheek, Glorfindel closed his mouth and flashed an awkward grimace before cutting the silence with an answer. “Bone white, especially if you’re choosing to paint your house in blue, it would mesh well with each other.”

Grateful for the say, Ecthelion wasted no time in returning to his colour scheming and designing of your future home with a small ‘thank you’. However, Egalmoth was beginning to find confusion in this entire dynamic since they were both against feeding into their dear friend’s delusions. The look of disgust plastered across the silver-haired male’s face as he scrutinised Glorfindel grew intensely as the second ticked by.

“Are you serious? No, no, no, don’t cut me off. I’m being serious here,” he protested at Glorfindel’s attempt to sway his mind. Dropping his voice and octave and inching his head closer to bridge the gap between him and the latter, he whisper-yelled, “Are you serious?! We were asked to help him finish his confession letter so he could serenade Y/N, not indulge in his delusionary fantasies that cannot exist until he confesses! Why are you helping him?!”

Amused at the sudden outburst from his comrade, he released small chuckles at his concern for their ‘puppy love’ friend. “But weren’t you—”

“No, no, no, no, no. Do not categorise me as an accomplice when I am not!” Pinching his brow, Egalmoth flung his back against the cushioned chair a little too hard, defeating the cushioning purpose. A quiet yelp slipped out before a series of exasperated sighs followed and a single eye roll. “I’m here to help lover boy get his lover, not keep him looking like a sick puppy.”

Unable to respond, Glorfindel watched with laughter as Egalmoth rose from his seat and trudged over to Ecthelion to pry the sheet of paper out of the ebony-haired elf’s hands which almost sparked an outburst.

“Alright, I’ve had enough. You summoned us to aid you with wooing Y/N and here we are aiding you with picking house colours. Well no more! Get me your best rendition of your confession Laurë helped you write. Get up!” With a wave of his hand, Egalmoth ushered Ecthelion to his feet to recite his poem. Unfortunately, Thel was able to cast a sheepish expression which spoke volumes and made both Lords groan.

Holding his palms upwards to surrender, he defended himself as best as he could. “In my adversity, I was overcome with excitement for our future each time I sat down to finish the poem, so I have an excuse.”

This time, it was Glorfindel who turned on the heat and cast his dear friend a look of disappointment. With his arms and legs crossed, he bore holes in Ecthelion’s head, creating possible solutions to help his helpless friend without launching his harp at his head. Needless to say, Glorfindel sighed heavily with the pressures of another person’s burden on his shoulders. “Where’s the parchment with the poem? Let’s see how well we can impersonate the great Elemmírë and create a masterpiece for you to profess your undying love for Y/N. Only this time you’re alive and not dead.”

Ending his joke with laughter, accompanied by Egalmoth, he rose from his chair to grip the parchment from Ecthelion’s hands as he produced it from inside his robes. With another disappointed shake of his head, he requested a charcoal and soon, all three were—rather two since Ecthelion kept interrupting to discuss your future—slaving away to create a poem worthy of your name. Nonetheless, after the first hour and a half passed, he managed to get into the flow of creating words from his mind and very soon the poem was halfway completed.

“Okay, so we have the first two stanzas down—thankfully!” sassed Egalmoth as he threw an unbiased glare at the ebony hair Lord who did not hesitate to return one with common courtesy. “I think one more stanza could be added; try fitting in a line that confesses his love?”

Sharply reading through what was already written, Ecthelion had found everything to be perfect, yet still missing something. Prying the parchment from Glorfindel’s fingers, Thel paced up and down the drawing room muttering to himself about the things he could include about you.

Your eyes? Your voice? Your beauty—no, that was already included. Perhaps…

And so, he began to recite the poem in hopes of conjuring the rest.

“In gardens fair, where roses bloom,

A beauty found, defying gloom.

Like you, fair one, a bloom so rare,

With an elegance that fills the air.

“Yet in this garden, one may find,

A soul as lovely, gentle, and kind.

Each delicate curve, each gentle hue,

Reflects the sweetness found in you.

“Oh, delicate rose of whispered sighs,

In your presence, the world complies,

For your grace outshines the floral art,

A masterpiece of tender heart.

“So let me liken you, my dear,

To roses blooming, ever near.

For in your grace, in every part,

You hold the essence of my heart.

“I lo—”

He froze as though the words were stuck in his throat. At the tip of his very tongue, he knew the next syllable to whisper to you whenever he got the chance. Yet, it refused to fall off his tongue as though something held it back. The trembling of his hands gave it away, though his slight stubbornness pushed his fear away and replaced it with confidence.

False confidence. He scoffed and stared at the ivory cream carpet.

What was he to be afraid of? He was the Great lord Ecthelion of the Fountain who slayed four Balrogs and great tales were sung of him. He stared death in its eye, confessing to you would be as easy as walking through the silvery streets of Gondolin once again. Yet something held him back.

The day he left you in the city of Tirion that day he departed, gnawed at his memory. It was easier to picture being with you than working up the courage to share his heart knowing that you might reject him. You had every right to since he floundered the opportunity ages ago. It didn’t matter how many forms of encouragement came his way; anxiety lurked overheard. His only wish was that he had confessed to you before departing to reduce this turmoil.

“Thel?” The soft whisper of Glorfindel’s voice woke him up and returned him to reality. “Is everything alright?”

There was a deafening silence before the crumpling of paper followed by a sigh. “Who am I fooling? I can’t bring myself to do this anymore.”

“Oi, mate! What are—What are you doing? We’ve come so far,” Egalmoth reasoned as he shot from his seat with his hands outwards. “You can’t back out now!”

“Well, I am!” Ecthelion responded curtly, whipping his head around to shoot a tired look at his friends. “All this…All of this I’m doing, and what if Y/N rejects me? I had the opportunity aeons ago and I didn’t—”

“And yet Y/N stayed without loving someone else. Isn’t that enough to let you know that they’re waiting for you to still try? Imagine if you didn’t have this chance, and they found someone else, you would blame yourself, right? Then don’t! Come on, Thel,” Egalmoth encouraged as he took steps closer to his friend, bending down to retrieve the balled-up parchment off the floor. “Don’t let all those months of designing your future home be for nothing! Picture me as Y/N; what would you say if you had the chance?”

The glare he threw at Egalmoth was enough to make anyone else scurry away. The temper and fury behind his eyes; water brimmed his lower lashes as a barbed wire found its way around his neck. The first inhale he took burned his lungs. It was better to be left in the fantasy world.

Parting his lips, his silver-grey eyes burnt with passion as his heart cried a symphony of love. “I would say that I’m sorry, and I love you.” he began with a feathered whisper, “I have loved you morning, noon and night, even in death. My soul yearns for the very essence of yours for I cannot exist without you; I do not think that I can. I wish to be at your side in this life, hereafter and the next; I never wish to be parted from you from this moment onwards. I only wish to cherish you…if you would forgive me and accept me as I am.”

The silence in the air was thick. A pin could fall to the carpet and a sound would ricochet. Both Lords were caught by the throat from the rawness of the confession, a stark contrast to what was originally discussed. Flowery words.

Heaving as though a burden was lifted from his chest, Ecthelion felt tears pooling his low lashes from the anxiety he suffered from his mistakes. He just wanted to be with you. Not go through this turmoil of overcoming his f—

Clap! Clap! Clap! “Oh, that was beautiful!”

The sound of three necks snapping simultaneously reverberated clearly in your eardrums as your sudden voice and clapping startled all three Lords. However, once all three pairs of eyes were locked on your figure standing gracefully as ever in the doorway, you froze mid-clapping and stood at attention, eye darting from left to right. You felt like you were unintentionally being scolded by your old buddies.

Shuffling on your feet, you offered a wolfy grin with an awkward chuckle. “Sorry, the worker informed me that Lord Ecthelion was in the drawing room relaxing with familiar company and I was permitted to enter. If I’m obstructing, I’ll come back another time.”

“Oh no, no, no, no!” exclaimed Glorfindel with a beam brighter than the sun as the opportunity of a lifetime presented itself on a diamond platter. He wasted no time in flying out of his chair and grabbing Egalmoth by his scruff to head towards the exit, leaving Ecthelion standing confused in the centre of the room. “You can stay and chat with Ecthelion, we were just heading to the kitchen for condiments since he enjoys starving us. Farewell Y/N, we’ll catch up another time!”

You stood aside as both Lords brushed past your figure to rush down the hallway in the opposite direction of the kitchen as far as you could remember from your childhood. Pinching your brows with a whimsical expression, you remained standing in the doorway, not wanting to appear any more intruding than you had already proven to be. There was a curt nod from you in the ebony-haired elf’s direction, an awkward action which made no sense, yet proved to ease your nerves.

Tongue in cheek, you eyed the interior of the room before returning your focus to the statue of an elf at the centre. “I liked your words, the declaration of love, I meant. Is it for a play, not that I knew you to be the type of person to engage in those activities, or a song or poem?”

“Yes,” he curtly responded. The most unmanageable response to escape his silvery tongue slipped out. In Ecthelion’s head, he was screaming and attempting to drown himself for his foolish display. In his mind, his day was going from great to good to terrible to I-don’t-know-if-this-should-be-counted. Where and when did you spawn from?

Awkwardly nodding your head at his reply, you raised your brow. “Nice, um, I wanted to personally come here to give this to you,” you murmured and crossed the floor to stand a foot from the centre to hand him an envelope with his name written. “It’s a banquet and my family told me to invite a plus one, so—”

“You thought of me?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

Your face fell at the suddenness of his low confidence. The Ecthelion you knew from yesteryears would not have doubted anyone’s decision to have him as a first choice; this was not your Thel.

“You don’t wish to attend? My apologies, I’ll just take back the invite then.” Your hands made a grab to pry the envelope from his fingers, but he was quicker to move it out of your grasp. Deflating at his actions, you huffed. “Do you want to attend the banquet or not?”

“Yes! But why?”

“W-…Why?! Thel, I haven’t seen you in ages,” you angrily laughed and felt a wave of emotion welling in your throat making it difficult to meet his eyes. “I missed you and I did miss your return because I was busy preparing for the banquet hoping that I could spend the night with you. Chatting, drinking, dancing, or finding a secluded spot away from everyone. I miss you, and I know you miss me too. So come, please.”

You missed him. You missed him. You wanted to spend time with him alone. No better words were spoken from your lips to convince him to stay away. A moment the doors of opportunity opened; this time he was not ignoring it.

Clutching the envelope firmly between his fingers, he smiled. Gingerly nodding his head before breaking into it vigorously, he gave you a look of affection he could not resist. “I’ll be there in my finest wear.”

“Lovely!” you beamed and stared into his eyes. The tears were still brimming your lashes, only in smaller quantities which was less of an issue now that the problem was resolved. “And perhaps you can recite the confession you gave to Egalmoth earlier at the banquet, I’d love to hear it once more, in private.”

Understanding the meaning behind your words, he gave a gentle, yet stiff nod. “Of course,” he breathed with a look of anxiety. “Of course, a confession for you.”

Masterlist

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[lordgrimwing]

Glorfindel’s Long Day

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 5, and for the WIP game @thescrapwitch tagged me in]

[why is this a wip? I have a list of other things that he needs to do still but it so long and dull (as it's supposed to be) that I doubt I'll finished. This has a nice conclusion as it is now]

“I’m not sure how that rumor started, but I’ll look into it,” Glorfindel said shortly. A frown pulled at his lips. “And correct the appropriate parties.” 

“Thank you,” Elrond sifted through the disorganized piles of loose papers on his desk. The Lord of Imladris was not habitually so messy, but Galadriel’s impending visit appeared to be putting just as much strain on him as his guard captain. 

“Was there anything else, my Lord?” The golden-haired elf asked, mind already well departed from the cluttered office.

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Elrond looked up, several limp strands of hair escaping their precarious housing atop his head. “I could use—no, no,” He interrupted himself with a quick shake of his head, causing more brown hair to tumble free. “Lindir can do that. I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you, Glorfindel.”

Finally dismissed, his body followed his thoughts back through the winding stairs of the sanctuary carved into the gorge all the way back to the guard house where several elves waited for a tongue-lashing the likes of which they’d never experienced. The problem, he thought as he walked through the stone passages, with building a serviceable guard from those primarily beget in the latter years of the second age, was that they did not have the requisite experience to understand why they should never leave a post unattended for even a minute—no matter how tempting the colorful skylights were last night.

No sooner had Glorfindel finished with the flighty, would-be guards, then a young elleth (were they not all young to him?) came with a written message from the head baker. She gave him the tightly rolled paper and, apron shedding flour onto the rug before his desk, informed him the baker directed her to not return until she had a written response.

With a mighty sigh that could no longer be called long-suffering, he opened the letter and read. 

After only a few lines, it grew quite clear that the problem of which the baker wrote should not be addressed to him but rather to Erestor or more probably Lindir as it was nothing but complaints about the new system for ordering irregularly used spices. He said as much to the apprentice baker, offering the page back to her.

She raised her hands and shook her head, saying that the baker ‘insisted she wanted an answer from Glorfindel’.

He reiterated that he had no say in anything that had to do with managing and running the House. She swore she wasn’t leaving until she had something in writing to prove she’d done exactly as directed. 

Glorfindel was many thousand years old—yes he spent a good chunk of that time as a bodiless spirit in the halls of the dead but it still counted—so he had the self control to not roll his eyes at whatever low stakes power struggle was being waged among the house staff. Taking up a small note page and his inkwell, he scrawled out a quick response, reminding the baker to use appropriate communication chains; they were, after all, set up for a reason (mostly to keep half of the staff from stepping on the toes of the other half, as elves were rather prone to do when no greater threat was around to distract them from small grievances). He ended the letter with the most serviceable of unembellished tengwar.

After a quick blotting, the elleth departed with the note, too happy to report that she completed the task set before her and exactly nothing else. 

If Glorfindel ground his teeth slightly at the preposterous nature of that entire interaction, well, it was merely an accident caused when he jerked his head up from where he rested it against the desk, suddenly realizing that it was past time for him to go up to the plateau that formed the highest border on the the secluded valley and see how the field exercise was going.  

Down to the floor of the gorge he went, then up another meandering staircase and tunnel until he reached the hidden exit onto the grasslands above.

Gwendyon met him just behind the next hill.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” the guardsman chirped brightly, popping up from the brush he'd been hidden in, telescope in one hand and notebook in the other. “How are things in the valley today?”

Glorfindel liked Gwendyon. Born late in the first age, the Sinda had enough experience and focus to keep newer guards in order, while keeping a cheery good nature—a combination that saw him regularly managing field training exercise, as Glorfindel's duties generally did not permit his leaving for extended periods except when the lord or lady of the valley, or their children, wished to travel.

“Better once I have your report,” Glorfindel said. Today, the blazing cheer was rather too bright.

Gwendyon nodded out toward the west, where the long grasses faded into rocky hills and trees, and jumped into a review of how well the teams were working together.

The taller elf nodded and asked a few clarifying questions, then directed changes for tomorrow's schedule based on how things were going so far. 

“Keep up the good work,” He said at last, ready to depart.

“One more thing,” The dark elf said quickly. He opened the leather bound notebook and withdrew a folded sheet. “It sounds rather silly,” He laughed at himself, “but I’ve written a poem for Mileidh and I was hoping I might convince you to take it to them. They should be bringing the goats back to the barns any time now.”

Glorfindel pushed a smile across his face. “Of course I can,” He said. 

He'd need to do it as soon as he returned to the valley. There were several reports waiting for him to review and sign off on in his office, as well as that tracking down the origin of those rumors for Elrond, but if he dealt with those first, he wouldn't have time to go back down to the barns before Mileidh went home.

“Thank you!” Gwendyon enthused, clasping his shoulder briefly in gratitude. 

Glorfindel left after that with a terse farewell that may have made the young ellon wonder if he'd offended him or overstepped propriety with the personal request, but the golden elf didn’t care at the moment, he just wanted to be done up here and get on to the many other things he had left to do.

[sillylotrpolls]

(Relevant reading below poll)

From the Appendices, in 1541:

But when King Elessar gave up his life Legolas followed at last the desire of his heart and sailed over Sea. Here follows one of the last notes in the Red Book We have heard tell that Legolas took Gimli Glóin's son with him because of their great friendship, greater than any that has been between Elf and Dwarf. If this is true, then it is strange indeed: that a Dwarf should be willing to leave Middle-earth for any love, or that the Eldar should receive him, or that the Lords of the West should permit it. But it is said that Gimli went also out of desire to see again the beauty of Galadriel; and it may be that she, being mighty among the Eldar, obtained this grace for him. More cannot be said of this matter.

And

On September 22 [1482] Master Sam-wise rides out from Bag End. He comes to the Tower Hills, and is last seen by Elanor, to whom he gives the Red Book afterwards kept by the Fairbairns. Among them the tradition is handed down from Elanor that Samwise passed the Towers, and went to the Grey Havens and passed over Sea, last of the Ring-bearers.

[blankdblank]

Flying Buckets

…

“The White Council has spoken…” Thranduil growled out, having been reading the letter that brought him here weeks ago to talk sense into his oldest friends and get aid to move upon his lost peak within the Southern half of his forest. Glorfindel seated along the wall flinched as he did to the pained squeak and thud in response to his hard kick of a bucket through the window opening on the far wall of his suite.

“Always, the face….” A muffled and defeated voice had the pair spring up to race outside and find a petite woman plopped ungracefully on her side clutching her face to a angered flop of her foot down into the tall grass she was weighing down.

“Madam,” the Elf King felt himself sighing in a hard drop to a knee at her side. Blood clear as day from the now broken nose that hindered the already frustrated Dwarf Company of Thorin Oakenshield who were dead set on waiting until their most injury riddled member was right as rain for the continuation of their journey. Of course that was after an internal investigation on where the Princes were at during that time to ensure like a mishap with the ponies the first week had not been behind another bloody nose and facial bruise for her they were glad to be cleared of. Elrond was shouted for and the King himself carried her to aid without care of the stains to his outer robes terrifying so many in his pacing path outside the Healers Wing.

“You owe me,” was mouthed by her to the Elf King who was not blamed by the Company who would have ammunition enough already to despise him for all eternity off past grievances and grudges. The same Elf King who in his entrapped state offered a deal of his own, together they would call for aid from Dain to rid his Southern Woodlands of the Necromancer and then he would gladly aid in march upon the mountain, where they could surely work his lost gems once the arkenstone was recovered into a new trade deal to rekindle the relationship between their kingdoms.

Quietly as she stole a moment to the side of the grand hall being prepped for the coronation in a few weeks time the one to whom the King owed a debt felt his statuesque silent figure come up on her left. Silent as ever with more grace than she could dream to scoff at beside her now sling donning self thanks to another thankfully face bruise free incident one of Dain’s men unintentionally set off. “I believe we have yet to discuss terms of my debt to you.”

Up at him with brilliantly clear eyes she peered at him for another stunning glimpse of the face he’d sooner ache to coat with kisses and murmured sentiments of adoration than ever bring a single speck of a bruise to. “I want one of those head things,” that had his brow tick upwards to the circle of her good hand drawing a sloppy loop around her head. “Like Arwen and Elrond wear,” that gained a nod from him and she added peering back at the hall making his heart sink lower to her words than it ever had when he’d unfortunately caused her harm. “Everyone else has a title, some relation to the King and they all have some fancy bits and bobs they bring up to be wearing at the coronation. I get to go, but family sits with family and, I’m not family.” Up at him she looked after patting her bunched sleeve to her cheek forcing a grin onto her pinkened face, with eyes still glimmering with hint of tears in them. “If you have to you could say I cried and made you feel bad.”

“That is a poor repayment.” An answer that had her look away mid nod in the rejection riddled tone to the answer she assumed to be given so she would not actually become a sobbing mess and actually stir up some real trouble for the Elf King. An uncommon gesture of comfort of a hand on her shoulder blade halted a swivel of her head to search for a quick escape linked to ample hiding places until she would calm down. “The adornment is customary for such an event, consider it granted however many styles you deem to ask for.” Sloppily she sniffled and raised her hand and bunched up sleeve again to hover in front of the lower half of her face and cheeks as best as she could. “For now consider a much more proper form of repayment and do excuse me. On the subject of your seating arrangement, I have to speak to Lord Celeborn on terms of adopting you into his kin.”

“What?!” She squeaked out, turning to find he was gone somehow and was bent on greatly improving the station upon which would grant him a much closer distance to your seat than he could imagine possible at the moment for a Western wilds familiar Ranger.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Snow Day

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to @maglor-my-beloved for having submitted that beautiful drawing (please share it!!!) for me to get out of my writer's block.

It's my joy and honour to share the result of my toiling with you! <3

Characters: Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel

Words: 1550

Warnings: It's pretty cold, there's a sword, a bit of sadness, use of the M-slur for Melkor 😂

“Morgoth be cursed,” Erestor muttered, looking out of the window with boundless annoyance that made his face look drawn and pale. “It’s snowing.”

“It’s actually not,” Glorfindel contradicted, strolling into the study with a sunny grin. “It has just stopped. We could steal a few shields and slide down a hillside? Make the best out of it?”

At that uncautious suggestion, no matter how enthusiastically it was presented, Elrond lifted his head sharply from the letter he’d been perusing, hitherto having desperately tried to shut out the ongoing discussion between his friends.

He now realised that this had been a grievous mistake!

Neither one took well to being cooped up inside—the reasons for their mounting cabin fever might have been opposed, but the nerve-wracking effect of their continuous arguing was unfortunately much the same.

“I have too much work as it is,” Elrond finally interrupted the ensuing squabbling patiently. “I’d much rather you don’t add to it by wilfully engaging in dangerously reckless behaviour.”

Erestor nodded smugly, but his eyes returned to the icy desert outside longingly again and again as if he was earnestly considering Glorfindel’s proposal.

Shrugging, Glorfindel meanwhile leaned against the wall, crossing his long legs and smirking deviously at the much put-upon Lord of Imladris. “If you’re so opposed to a bit of innocent fun,” he drawled seductively, “I guess you’ll have to set aside your boring paperwork and come with us. Just to make sure that we won’t do anything you deem too foolhardy.”

“Can’t you just build snowpeople?” Elrond asked tersely, exasperation colouring his fatigue-laden voice. “That should keep you out of trouble.”

As he returned his attention to his correspondence, he missed the exchange of meaningful glances between the other two who’d instantly recognised the minute crack in Elrond’s usually so impervious mask of calm efficiency.

"Glorfindel is right," Erestor declared slowly.

Elrond’s head snapped up again in wordless shock—clearly, the bad weather had driven them stark raving mad if Erestor had taken to agreeing with Glorfindel.

“You should rest a little. Why don’t you come with us? Not everyone has had the chance of being parented by a hundred different people,” Erestor continued with that corrupting mix of petulant aggression and wide-eyed vulnerability that made him so wickedly convincing. “You could show us how it’s done.”

Before Glorfindel could snigger that there was but little mystery to the matter, Erestor had firmly kicked him in the shin to keep him from destroying their joint efforts by innocent bluster and ill-advised encouragement.

“There were hardly a hundred,” Elrond muttered, his resolve and interest in the dry reports about taxes and weather changes already waning inexorably. “And I would think that the two of you can figure it out on your own.”

Two mouths, pouty and rosy, opened to protest, and he lifted his hands to placate the storm of remonstrances and well-meant sermons before it could arise.

“As you wish. Please make sure that you’re wearing appropriate apparel—the wind can be quite chilling—and meet me by the Eastern gate. I’ve got to drop these off and retrieve my winter cloak and mittens before I even think of venturing outside.”

Watching them scamper away hastily before he could change his mind, Elrond wrenched his thoughts away from the duties he’d have to postpone until his return and, with an indulgent shake of his head, swiftly made his way to his own chambers.

When he finally arrived at the appointed meeting point, swaddled in several layers of insulating fabric, Glorfindel and Erestor were already waiting for him—they were also already viciously fighting about something the late-comer could not yet discern.

Elrond sighed and joined the fray fearlessly.

“I can’t believe you’d double-cross me like that!” Glorfindel muttered, visibly vexed, while eyeing the short sword in the other’s hand. “When I propose we take a detour to the armoury, I am an imprudent fool, but when you simply sneak in and out, you’re a genius!”

“Your words, not mine,” Erestor laughed and danced away when his colleague lunged forward to pluck the weapon from his grasp in a petulant attempt at checking the other’s glaring aura of petty triumph.

“Let’s go!” Elrond, growing uncomfortably hot as he helplessly watched them chase one another through the deserted hallway, exclaimed.

He sincerely hoped that the bracing cold and the creative endeavour would distract them sufficiently from their spat so their little outing would not end in the kind of grievous injury he had so adamantly wanted to prevent from the beginning.

In sullen, determined silence, they trudged up the snow-packed path leading away from the sheltered, cloistered paradise of Imladris until they reached a small hill, covered in fluffy, white powder and cruelly exposed to the presently dormant violence of the weather.

“So,” Elrond said quietly. “As Erestor has previously remarked upon so brazenly, this snowstorm might well be one of Morgoth’s curses which linger still within the darkness plaguing our world. When I was…young, we’d craft effigies to dismay and mock him so we’d be less afraid...”

Struck by the incandescent intensity of his friends’ regard, he fell silent for a moment, kneading the strap of his bag nervously for fear of having already said too much.

“I like this,” Glorfindel finally cheered after having given the idea some thought. “Let’s create cool guardians for Imladris. How about that?”

Thus, it was decided. Snow was progressively heaped, rolled, and pressed into the approximate shape of three lumpy Elven bodies under much grunting and giggling until they were satisfied with the raw building blocks they had assembled.

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair!” Glorfindel thundered as he watched Elrond reach into his trusty satchel and extricate a handful of sturdy chiselling tools from an old leather cover. “Erestor! Come look at that—our Lord Elrond, who claims to be blessedly free of the curse of ambition, has dragged scalpels and tiny hammers along.”

“Didn’t expect anything less,” Erestor mumbled, entirely enthralled by his own project—he envisioned a fierce warrior, armed and armoured, who’d stand stolidly atop the knoll and keep a cold, watchful eye on the landscape,  ever-vigilant to the enemy’s scouts growing bolder and roaming closer to Imladris with every passing day.

Miffed by the others’ clear attempt at cheating, Glorfindel rushed down the hill and into a nearby grove of tall trees to countervail his evident disadvantage by gathering supplies and aids that were readily available by nature’s grace.

As he emerged once more and clawed his way back to his snowy canvas, though, both Elrond and Erestor had nearly finished their snow elves.

Uttering a snorting noise of dismay, Glorfindel stuck the two perfectly beautiful branches he’d found into the slender, shapely body of his creation and took a step back to let his appreciative gaze drink in the unexpected success of his opus.

Indeed, he was inordinately pleased with the ferocious, aggressive look of his crookedly grinning gelid sentinel, and so he beamed with pride as he turned back to his friends.

Of course, Elrond’s snow statue had expertly chiselled features and wore a thick, blue scarf that blew like a banner of a House long-fallen in the icy wind, and Erestor’s piece was bestowed with a sharp blade, glittering in the sallow sun, but it simply wasn’t in Glorfindel’s nature to become truly enraged with envy.

“Foresight, caution, and good health shall keep Imladris safe,” Elrond said ponderously, patting the sharp, high cheek of his snow sage, who was unnecessarily well-dressed to withstand the freezing temperatures. He truly had been made in the image of his creator, one had to admit, as Elrond now cleaned his thick gloves of the last remnants of sticky, melting snow before dutifully preparing and packing his tools.

Diligent to a fault, he certainly yearned to return to his study and letters before the weather could turn on them and make them regret ever having considered so foolish a plan as to leave the safety of Imladris in these meteorological conditions.

Scoffing, Erestor nodded at his own fearsome, sword-wielding oeuvre with grim satisfaction. “Sharp blades and unwavering vigilance shall serve us better, methinks,” he hummed gently as he further imbued it with stern tenacity.

Both turned to Glorfindel who grinned sheepishly. “I’m with Erestor on this,” he admitted. “Thus, I…made him. Erestor will keep us safe.”

For a seemingly endless moment, Elrond—who’d undeniably gone somewhat overboard in the execution of his planned distraction—merely blinked as the wind was picking up again and now buffeted them with glacial needles.

“I can agree with that,” he finally said, mellowing. “Let’s leave our brave companions to guard the Realm—each in their own way and as best they see fit—and return to our lit fireplaces and comfortable chairs.”

It looked as if the other two would demur, so he quickly swore that there would be no more work of any kind upon their return.

“Let’s merely sit together, have a cup of warm tea, and talk about our childhood traditions as if they were not lost forevermore yet!”

With a last solemn, laughably superstitious salute to the resplendent results of carefree fun and amicable competition, they threw themselves against the near-solid wall of snow-laden squalls and fought their way back to Imladris.

There are no Masterlists nor tags this time.

It's just a random art/fic exchange as we're gearing up for TRSB!

Lots of love!

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Letters to Glorfindel - II

How do you tell someone you love them?

This is a question I have asked myself a lot over the years, especially when confronted with lovers, when watching their interactions.

How did they know they loved each other?

Was it when they saw the other person cry for the very first time and felt like they needed to protect their happiness more than anything else? Or perhaps it was their first genuine smile that drew them in and made them realise how much the other person meant to them.

A lot of people would say your smile is always genuine, that you never not mean it. But I have learned to differentiate between your smiles over time. Yes, you are a likeable, bright individual that draws his counterpart in with his every move. You are captivating, to put it lightly. It's the way your eyes shine, the way your hair seems to move on its own, even when there is no wind blowing. The way that blush creeps onto the apples of your delicate cheeks when you have regained your composure after having burst into laughter. However, there is a smile which you only share in your rarest, most innocent moments; leaning against a tree in the gardens of Imladris, reading a letter I had given to you — that was the very first time I had seen it.

You couldn't look me in the eyes, because you were too stunned by the grateful verses I had composed about your heartwarming presence and the way it would lift me up, even on my saddest of days. Your eyes — they were glazed, almost as if you had tears in them, afraid to spill them if you raised your gaze and laid it upon my face. You didn't show your teeth, instead, your mouth just quirked upwards ever so slightly and your eyebrows came together to create the most precious frown that would melt even a heart of stone in an instant.

I think that was when I knew. And the way you held me close when I had jumped into your arms upon realising what I felt, reassured me that you felt it, too. And it was at that exact spot too, that I voiced those feelings out loud a month later. You were leaning against the same tree, and my confession had ended in an embrace, just like last time.

I know I don't say it as often anymore, as do you. Life gets in the way of intimate moments, even the most trivial ones. We tend to get stuck in nonverbal displays of affection that show themselves in our habits — but my feelings are ever so strong as they were when we were standing underneath that tree.

I wish for you to keep this letter as a reminder that no matter how much time passes in this world, no matter how many centuries we end up spending together — even when we inevitably find ourselves crossing the Helcaraxë to sail westward — I pledge myself to you and only you, for all of eternity and more.

So, how do you tell someone you love them?

I guess it changes for every individual. But writing seems to be my most sincere outlet of emotion. I hope you have that genuine smile on your face when you read this, and I hope you feel the need to jump into my arms just like I did on that day, all those years ago.

Until then, I will be waiting patiently for this letter to find you well and bring you to me.

[melestasflight]

For the holiday prompts, 4. filled with wonder and delight + Celebrían/Elrond? Thank you! — @emyn-arnens

Holiday Silm Prompt fill for @emyn-arnens. 1k words of our favorite comfort pairing.

Elrond and Celebrían in five poems and a little more.

filled with wonder and delight

on AO3

It had always been thus, that poetry was the language of their hearts. For verses could tell those things that could not be spoken.

Elrond’s heart composed rhymes of its own will as he watched Celebrían dance, the words matching themselves in harmony even as her own two feet followed one another, different but same.

Onomatopeias sprang at the tip of his tongue whenever Celebrían laughed. How she chirped as the robins in the forest when Elrond would bring himself to share a jest. How she howled in unguarded glee at Glorfindel’s stories and chortled smugly at Erestor’s incapacity to defeat her in any argument at all.

It was Celebrían who had started it all on her first summer in Imladris.

Oh to walk among your gardens fair, lord of waters, lord of things green, Oh to rid myself of all despair, lord of summer, kindness unseen.

A note left behind in her guest quarters, no more than a scribble on a piece of scrap paper, almost swept with the dry leaves of fall descending through the open windows.

But Elrond knew the meaning behind these simple words. Your valley is a home closer to my heart than any I have known, he could almost hear Celebrían’s words in his mind.

A damp and cold winter followed Celebrían’s first departure, and Elrond was sick with longing for her, reading and rereading that little note until the paper was worn and the ink almost illegible beneath his fingertips.

The warmth arrives with Celebrían’s return, for every season turned into Spring when she was around to fill the halls with her laughter, to let her song coax the valley to life. Then quietly, with no spoken agreement, they let themselves fall into the sweet habit of verse.

In the depths of the forest, Under the light of the moon, My heart rushes like water, Flowing clear and crisp and clean, Seeking the stars of your eyes.

Letters left for each other at the breakfast table, slipped underneath doors, folded between the pages of favorite books, tucked between gifts, never of farewell, but of endless beckoning — come back to me.

Even in Celebrían’s absence, Elrond sought after suitable words to match this meter or another, verses that stretched out leisurely or cut themselves short at just the right place to form stanzas worthy of the princess of Lothlórien.

Always his heart resorted to poetry because plain language was simply not good enough, not beautiful enough for this person whom he loved beyond what any word could describe.

Verses lingered even after their partings, as the scent of freshly baked bread remains long after the warm crust has been sliced and eaten to the last crumb.

An Elven-maid was here in my home of old,      A bright star in my day: She has gone back to her forest of trees gold,      Her dress of silver-grey.

With her I send the wood’s breeze,      To stir the tresses of her hair, In place of my love to ease,      Her journey to Lórien fair.

Until spring I shall await her return,      Of betrothal vows to say, May my heart in longing not fully burn,      Let her spirit to mine stray.

In time, the words folded themselves around their children also. There were songs written and drawn into Elrohir’s leather-bound diaries, verses embroidered along the sleeves of Arwen’s riding cloak, stanzas engraved along Elladan’s bow. Elrond loved them with each verse, the poetry filling his home almost too fair to be true.

Until the day Celebrían was gone, and when she returned she was silent and no words at all came from her lips or quill. No poem, no song of Elrond’s could alight the Spring in her heart.

He let her go and remained to live yet another winter, longer and bleaker than any.

The last winter did not seem as cold As this. Her hand was warm in mine, and she Made these icy halls a homely place to be. Where the cones of the spruce did once unfold Stories beneath their shadows were told. Now the ground is sodden wet, the apple tree Has shed its fruits. No green leaves to see Its crown is empty, so barren to see.

Spring shall surely come but not for me, Across the Sea I send a voiceless plea.

Elrond measured the passage of the centuries by the coming of each winter, that cyclical quieting of the land. And as the valley was emptied of birdsong so was his house emptied of poetry. For he wrote, endlessly, tirelessly. He wrote missives, and orders, and plans. Drew maps of battlefields and kingdoms. Sang his people to survival, to hope.

But verse he refused to write or read as long as he remained wed to Middle-earth.

Until now.

On this day, a day he had not dared dream in his long winter, Elrond finds himself in Celebrían’s home. She had not waited for him upon the docks of Tol Eressëa with Elwing, noe welcomed him with fresh bread and sweet water beside Idril.

He stands now in Celebrían’s small house, a green-roofed cabin between the trunks of ancient trees. All windows and doors are open wide as if inviting any beast of the wood to dwell as a guest here. There are few things but the house does not feel empty.

A neatly folded piece of paper sits on the small table in the only room. It is for him, Elrond knows.

Winters and summers Will come and go but      You will come to me.

The world shall change And the roads curve but      You will come to me.

None shall remember The people we were but      You will come to me.

Tho Tilion descends With Arien from the skies      You will come to me.

His hands shake by the time he reads the last verse. And when he looks up from the paper, she stands there watching him, renewed and more beautiful than in any of Elrond’s memories.

I have no poem for you, he wants to say but does not dare speak, afraid that he shall shatter this moment and never regain it again.

‘I knew you would come to me,’ his beloved says and opens her arms.

Elrond lets his heart open and be slowly filled with wonder and delight as he steps forward to fall into Celebrían’s embrace. They do not need words for this.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to drop me a note/kudo on AO3. It makes my day!

[searchingforserendipity25]

Self Fic Rec

Thank you so much to @sallysavestheday, @swanmaids, @thelordofgifs, @melestasflight for tagging me, and for sharing their lists - lots of excelling fics to read and reread <33

I am taking this opportunity to share some recent fics I've written for exchanges and events on ao3 and haven't posted on tumblr yet!

If All Kings Be As Kin, for the wonderful @thalion71, with @melestasflight wonderful betaing

It might have all been more tolerable, the newness of the flesh and the estrangement of the spirit, if Gil-Galad were in love with the world around him; but Gil-Galad was not in love with Valinor.

Fin-Galad comes back to life, dances a great deal, and faces one of his predecessors. Fingon, for his part, has questions of his own.

After Ruin, a Hurt/Comfort Exchange treat for @jaz-the-bard.

Mandos was kin to Morgoth: well knew Maeglin that no escape would avail him. But it was not escape that he sought.

Maeglin attempts self-destruction in the Halls of Mandos; Turgon seeks a confrontation. The ghost of fallen Gondolin is there, too.

Formal Noldorin Poetic Formats And Unusual Adaptations

Correspondence on collaboration for an unpublished draft of an instrumental song cycle, developed between two princes of the House of Finwë.

Maglor and Finrod exchanging letters, teasing and avant-garde musical theory in the Years of the Trees. For Tolkien Ekphrasis Week.

Glasshouses

It had been - an understanding, an understood thing, in Gondolin.

A study on Turgon/Glorfindel not-quite unrequited love over the centuries. I am quite proud of the writing on this one. For the Spring Into Arda event.

Battlefields

It was not meet for a king to be weak, even before his healers and lieutenants. But it had been a long time since Gil-Galad had had a cousin bold and true enough to cut a swathe through the enemy and come, kneeling, back unguarded, to press his hands against his injury.  

Gil-Galad is wounded in battle. Elrond and Elros have opinions on the care and keeping of kings. A small fic about trust, also for @thalion71.

I'm not sure who's received this tag before, so tagging all mentioned and @mayfriend, @welcomingdisaster, @jouissants, @thescrapwitch, @eilinelsghost, @slightnettles, @actual-bill-potts, @emyn-arnens, @theworldisquietheretooquiet, @vidumavi, @that-angry-noldo, @meadowlarkx, @polutrope and @ettelene.

[tiny-and-witchy]

Okay here we go.. As I promised @entishramblings after this post, I am now here to share my tengwar practice sheets in a little bit more detail. Although, these were initially just for practice so I actually haven't been paying much attention to precision and aesthetics of it.. Well, at least not enough to show them to people in this way so here we go @entishramblings , this is for you!!

(I will be posting this in pieces, I tried to make it into one post, tumblr wouldn't let me so I have to write it all over again, so sorry in advance for all the notifications.)

Here we go:

I started with some well known names of people, elves and places, like Imladris, Galadriel, Glorfindel and so on.. Also there are names of my friends and some half names (I started writing and realised it couldn't fit there) and random letters..

And if we juuust look towards the right side here:

You can see I wrote my name next to Legolas. (I may be not-so-low-key-head-over-heels in love with him..)

And here:

On the left, we see 'Eryn Galen' and 'Eryn Lasgalen', which translates to Greenwood (my baby's homeland how was I supposed to resist). And on the right is 'Celebrimbor', a name again, and 'Mae govannen' which is a phrase of greeting..

[lordgrimwing]

Glorfindel the Child Balrog Slayer

The songs often spoke of the youthfulness of Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. That did not prepare Elrond to see the newly returned Balrog Slayer in person.

The young elf sat perched on the edge of his desk, golden hair spread around him in an unruly mane. He swung his feet as he waited, his keen gaze focused on one of the tapestries decorating and warming the Lord of Imladris’ office. This one depicted a scene from the triumph of the host of Valinor in defeating the Great Enemy once again. He was so absorbed in the images (did he recognize any of those Eldar? The tapestry was so skillfully crafted that Elrond would not be surprised if he did), that he gave no indication of noticing the appearance of the person for whom he was waiting.

“Welcome, Lord Glorfindel,” Elrond said, smoothing over his shock at seeing a youth hardly out of childhood when he expected a grown warrior. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Glorfindel hopped off the desk. His hair pulled a few loose papers out of place as it slid off to hang around his knees. The old tales certainly did not embellish that aspect of the lord of Gondolin. He bowed, hair sweeping forward to brush the floor (how often did he have to wash and clean it? Even in peace, hair that long wasn’t practical).

“My Lord Elrond,” He said in a voice as light as he was youthful. A broad smile brightened his face further as he straightened to address him, his eyes sparkling with a subtle light. “It is my honor to journey here to meet you. I follow where Manwë guides, but my heart grew gladder still when Círdan spoke somewhat of Imladris’s Lord, for I knew little of you and I worried somewhat in my mind over what sort of leader the Valar sent me to serve. But I see now my concerns were for not, for you are wiser and more just still even than Turgon.”

The torrent of words flooded over Elrond and he felt as though he must steady himself against the onslaught lest it sweep him off his feet. He gestured at the armchairs to one side of the office, inviting his guest to take a seat with him. 

Glorfindel did, easily tossing his hair to one side so he would not sit on it. 

“I admit,” Elrond said when they were both settled. “While Círdan sent a message explaining your return from the Halls of Mandos, I find myself unsure why you would be sent here.” The letter said the fallen hero came from across the sea with a message for High King Gil-Galad in Mithlond. That duty quickly completed, Elrond could see no reason for him to come so far east. Why not go back to Aman on one of Círdan ships? 

Glorfindel shrugged in his light travel tunic, apparently unbothered by the mystery. “They will that I serve you until such time as they bid otherwise.”

“Serve me?” Elrond repeated, trying to keep up. He was still trying to get used to the fact that this youth knew his grandparents and great-grandparents, and had slain a balrog in defense of his people.

Jumping up, the young elf reached toward his hip as though to unsheath a sword. Realizing that he wasn’t wearing one, he settled for placing his fist over his chest as he knelt on the thick rug at Elrond’s feet. He bowed his head and said, “Elrond of Many Houses, Lord of Imladris, Heir to Thingol and Fingolfin, Child of Melian and Friend of Men, I, Glorfindel, solemnly pledge my work and my life to your hands-” 

Elrond would have liked to stop him there before any promise could be sworn, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice fast enough. He did not want anyone, least of all someone barely older than his own sons, binding themself to him.

“-to serve and to follow in whatsoever part you desire until the breaking of the world or that day when the Valar have need of me again.”

This really was not how he wanted the day to go.

“I am yours to command.” Glorfindel finished. He stayed where he was, waiting for some sign from the lord he pledged himself to.

After several quiet seconds, Elrond said, “You are welcome to stay in Imladris and join my house, but we have no need for oaths here. Do not swear yourself to me or anyone else, but serve only for as long as you wish.” He crouched before him and, taking the youth by his strong shoulders, drew him up to stand with him.

Glorfindel quickly smiled before Elrond could see his expression. He did not wish to hurt him by rejecting the show of loyalty, but there was no need for those kinds of dangerous promises in this age. The number of former Fëanorians in the valley made promises stronger than ‘I will’ or ‘I will not’ something of a taboo. 

“My apologies, Lord Elrond,” Said Glorfindel with a small laugh. “I’ve missed a great many changes. Forgive my foolishness as I learn.”

Elrond smiled as he looked into his earnest eyes. It was strange being at eye level with one so young. Few elves who grew up in the light of the trees remained in Middle-earth, and fewer still in hidden Imladris. He sometimes forgot how tall they were. “Your apology is unneeded but accepted. My steward Lindir can help you get settled. Unless you’ve already done that?” 

He did not look or smell like he’d spent the last several weeks riding a horse through the wilds, so perhaps he’d seen to himself before coming to meet with him. There were plenty of families that would welcome a visitor to the valley. Though it was odd that he hadn’t changed out of his travel clothes.

Glorfindel shook his head, hair swinging side to side. “I came straight here. Well,” He corrected himself. “I bathed in a stream first and loosed the horse that bore me here to graze, then I came straight here.” 

The lord wondered which field the horse was in how and hoped whichever crop grew there would not hurt the animal. He’d send someone to find and bring it to the stables as soon as he finished here. “Lindir will happily help sort you out. If there is nothing else we need to discuss, I’ll let you go get settled.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Glorfindel bowed slightly again. 

“His office is up the flight of stairs through the west hall. If he isn’t there, ask anyone to help you find him.” Elrond said after him as he left.

Sitting down in the soft chair again, Elrond rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, the gem on his ring glittering in the light. An elf practically plucked straight from the old days of Gondolin and dropped into Imladris would be interesting if nothing else. He should probably let Erestor know about the arrival of one of the Gondolindrim before they accidentally bump into each other.

[doodle-pops]

For the reactions, how about elves with an so who likes to write them love letters and romantic poems please and thank you

a/n: I didn't want to put all in caps for the sake of some people's sensitivity to them, so I kept them all in lowercase. They all love to receive love letters.

There's nothing more romantic and sweet when they are greeted by the sight of a beautifully written love letter pouring its heart out to them. Describing everything you love about them from their features to their personality to their silliness, their entire day or week is entirely lit up by your simple gesture. It's something they look forward to especially when they're aware that it's done quite frequently. Sometimes, they would allow for a few to pile up, maybe two or four depending on how much you send in a week, and would read them all at once when their work is completed. Numerous times they were having a terrible day and in comes your little letter as their sunshine. They cannot thank you enough when you send these little parchment paper filled with your admiration for them.

Feanor, Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir, Celebrimbor, Fingolfin, Fingon, Turgon, Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Galdor, Rog, Maeglin, Egalmoth, Elrond, Thingol, Erestor, Lindir, Beleg, Elrohir, Elladan

[felagund-the-valiant]

Procrastination Troubles - Galdor x f!reader

It’s not like Galdor and you were meaning to hide your relationship from your brother – there just never seemed to be a right time to tell him.

Words: 1.1k

Tags: fluff, unintentional secret dating, sibling’s best friend trope

A/N: i will forever have brainrot over that one egalmoth kinktober fic by @doodle-pops. Anywayyy, it was also my introduction to the sibling’s best friend trope and this is my fluffy take on it with Galdor and Glorfindel because they’re besties in my hcs! (Tarnin Austa is the very same festival the Gondolindrim were celebrating the day Gondolin was attacked, in case you want to sprinkle in some potential upcoming angst for yourself.)

“Glorfindel?” You called out and knocked on the door of your brother’s study. He beckoned you inside and you spotted him behind his desk, scribbling away at some letters. “What can I do for you?” He asked as you walked up to his desk. “There’s something Galdor and I want to talk to you about, if you have the time.” You said while unconsciously fidgeting with the necklace around your neck. A shiny emerald dangling from a delicate golden necklace – a courtship gift from Galdor that you cherished deeply. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), I’m afraid I have my hands full – there are still many preparations to be made for Tarnin Austa. Is it urgent? Can it maybe wait a few days?” You sighed internally. The two of you had had this very conversation many times already and there always seemed to be new issues demanding his attention. Part of you was tempted to scold him and remind him that he wouldn’t be drowning in so much work now had he simply began preparations earlier, but you knew it would be a wasted effort. Instead, you opted to force a patient smile, mutter a resigned Yes, of course and departed from his office to seek out your beloved.

You found Galdor in his private garden, kneeling on the ground and tending to a small group of budding flowers with utmost care. His gentle nature was reflected even in the way he cared for his plants, and it was an oddly heartwarming sight. When he spotted you, he rose to his feet and discarded his gardening gloves and apron with a bright smile before drawing you in for a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and then your lips. His kisses were as delicate as the wings of the butterflies drawn to the many scented flowers around you (and those that seemed to be swirling around in your stomach) and you wished he would never stop. “It’s lovely to see you, meleth. What brings you here?” “I spoke to my brother.” You said and a hopeful glint appeared in Galdor’s eyes. “And? What did he say?” You shook your head and the hope turned into disappointment. “No good. Still feeling the consequences of his usual procrastination.” You replied with a roll of your eyes. Galdor huffed but still put on an optimistic face for your sake. “I’m sure we’ll get to tell him soon enough. And I can’t wait.” He gently caressed your cheek. “I can’t wait to stroll through the streets with you on my arm, dance with you at festivals. Show everyone how happy you make me – and hopefully how happy I make you.”

It wasn’t like you were forced into secrecy, you knew your courtship wouldn’t be seen as scandalous with Galdor being a well-respected lord and you being a lady of an equally esteemed house. Rather you had forced yourselves into secrecy, even if it was hard at times. You wanted your brother to be the first person to know but his procrastination made it more than difficult. So, for now, you opted to keep your courtship private. You smiled and covered the hand on your cheek with your own and leaned into the touch. “You make me more than happy, meleth. I love you, from the bottom of my heart.” Galdor leaned down and nuzzled your nose with his. “I love you, too.” He whispered before bestowing another kiss on you.

A few days later, you found yourself in Galdor’s garden again, this time kneeling on the ground beside him. You weren’t exactly skilled when it came to treating plants, but you were determined to get the hang of it for Galdor’s sake since you knew how import it was to him. He’d chosen a simple task for today – helping him with moving some plants from their current pots to bigger ones. You were a little terrified of pulling too tightly and damaging their stems, but the afternoon passed without any plants being hurt in the process, much to your relief. “You did well, (YN).” Galdor praised as you were putting away your tools. “See, I told you it’s not that difficult. You’ve already improved a lot.” “What do I get for being such an excellent gardening assistant?” You asked with a playful grin. “What would you like?” You hummed pensively and pretended to think for a moment even though you already knew your answer. “I suppose a kiss would be adequate compensation.” “A kiss you shall have.” Galdor said with an equally playful grin and met your lips with his, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him. You sighed into the kiss and tangled your fingers in his emerald shirt.

“Galdor, Galdor. Your own best friend’s little sister, huh?” A voice suddenly came from behind the two of you, making you part abruptly. You turned around startled to find your brother leaning against a marble column with an amused grin on his face. “Glorfindel!” You and Galdor exclaimed at the same time and exchanged nervous glances. “How long have you been standing there?” You asked. “A while.” He answered with a smirk. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, so I came here to hopefully find out from Galdor what the two of you want to talk to me about so desperately, but it seems like I already have my answer.” Galdor swallowed and tightened his grip on you a little. “Yes, indeed. (Y/N) and I started courting a while ago and we wanted to tell you properly, but you were always busy.” “We didn’t just want to spring it on you in passing.” You chimed in and Galdor nodded in agreement.

Glorfindel shook his head and walked up to the two of you with pursed lips. He stood before you and Galdor with a seemingly stern expression before breaking into joyful laughter. “Well, that is great news and now I wish I had taken some time earlier. I know ultimately you don’t need my blessing. I can’t tell my sister who she can and can’t court, but I want the two of you to know that I couldn’t be happier with her choice, and you have my full support. But know this”, He held up a hand before grabbing Galdor’s shoulder tightly, “best friend or not, if you break her heart, you will face my wrath.” Galdor nodded with a serious expression on his face. “I would expect nothing less.” Glorfindel smiled contently in return. “Good. Now that that is settled, what say the two of you we meet for dinner this evening to celebrate this joyous occasion?” “Are you sure you don’t have more work to do?” You probed him and he made a dismissive hand gesture. “It’s all right, I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” He said, making Galdor and you let out a quiet synchronised groan.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Merry-go-round

Look at this lovely commission I got from @sortumavaara.

So, let's give Glorestor another shot, shall we?

Words: 2k

Characters: Glorfindel, Erestor, Elrond

Warnings: sexual innuendo, slight nudity...

“Am I too late? I have it right here!” Glorfindel burst through the door of Lord Elrond’s study like a ray of pure sunlight, waving a piece of paper excitedly.

“Almost,” Elrond groaned and took the cliché without looking up from his paperwork. “Thank you for your collaboration, dear Glorfindel.”

Sniggering, Glorfindel absconded again—maybe, Elrond should have known then that something was very amiss, but he was too absorbed by the compilation of letters and mementos they were planning on sending to the Blessed Realm with some of the ships that were leaving from the Grey Havens shortly.

Thinking of the friends and family that might or might not live there in peace always took a considerable toll on his mind and mood—as there was no communication from the West, he could not know what fate had befallen those he had so desperately loved.

Were they still in the care of Námo or had they returned already? Did they remember and miss him?

With a deep sigh, he pushed aside the letters he was cataloguing and pinched the bridge of his nose. As so often, he wished he had Maglor’s talent with words when it came to flowery declarations.

What was he to say to his wife and his king? How was he to explain that—if all went well—he’d see them again before long? What words would even begin to express how much he missed them?

“Did his gleaming Highness remember?” Erestor—so unlike the previous counsellor to have graced this room—snuck in noiselessly and was only noticed when he spoke up, right beside his lord.

“Erestor,” Elrond cried out in surprise—he had been so lost in thought that the sudden appearance of his old friend had considerably startled him.

Thus, the finger with which he tapped the small paper rectangle was a little unsteady.

They had decided to include a collection of depictions of the inhabitants of Imladris in their missives in case there were people around who would gaze upon them in affection and longing.

Elrond himself had sat for a beautifully detailed portrait during long, torturous hours because the mere idea that his parents and foster fathers might yearn to see his face once more made his heart bleed with unspoken longing. It had been important to him to show them that he was alive and well and—this small act of vanity he allowed himself—he had taken great pains to look as handsome as he could.

“Oh, you are the perfect son,” Erestor had mumbled when Elrond had shown him the fruit of the blessed artist’s labour. “I am sure that they’ll all coo about how utterly splendid you are.”

“All?”

“You are beloved by all,” Erestor had smiled, “the scion of so many houses and—by far—the best of them.”

His own likeness was a tiny drop of white stone into which someone had carved his noble brow and imperious expression. What might have been understood as an manifestation of his humility was in truth a testament to Erestor’s prodigious impatience and often incomprehensible aversion to being looked at for too long a time.

“There is nobody who would remember me now,” he had whispered, barely managing to dissimulate the lingering hurt this knowledge caused him. “Why waste resources and time on a cameo that will probably be discarded as soon as it arrives.”

Even now, Elrond did not know what answer would have been more unwelcome to Erestor: that he was hopeful that his parents and family were alive and would rejoice in seeing his face or that, indeed, the curse of his blood had been contained for good and that he could start a new, unburdened life in Valinor when he arrived there.

The choked cry ringing like a bell through the narrow room tore him out of his renewed spell of distracted musing though.

“Indecent!” Erestor shrieked. “Elrond, have you seen the picture Glorfindel has submitted? Have you even looked at it?”

“I admit,” Elrond confessed guiltily, “that I have not yet had the time or the inclination to do so. Why? Do you object to it?”

Elrond himself had been relieved that the work of art was of reasonable dimensions—he had dreaded a canvas spanning the entire length of the room—and had thus, naïvely as he now had to accept, trusted that Glorfindel could hardly have contained any shenanigans in so small a frame.

Sputtering, Erestor waved the submission to and fro, making it absolutely impossible for Elrond to get a good look at it.

“Stop this and let me see,” he grouched and plucked it from his counsellor’s trembling fingers.

“Oh Eru,” Elrond exclaimed as soon as his eyes focused on the picture. True enough, it was a portrait of Glorfindel, but the setting and the shocking degree of nudity knocked both the breath and rational speech flat out of the dignified Lord of Imladris.

“What will my wife think? And Gil-Galad?”

At this, Erestor sniggered under his breath. “I would think that both are fiercely aware of Glorfindel’s…grotesque ideas. Moreover, I am certain that they’d be delighted to learn that you are provided both care and amusement in this forsaken land.”

Schooling his face into the forbidding mien of an annoyed tutor, Erestor took hold of the offending image once more and shoved it into his pocket carefully. “I shall deal with this. Don’t worry. I shall compile the album and make sure to put it somewhere inconspicuous—nobody will even really notice.”

The look Elrond gave him made it very clear that he was aware of how absurd that lie was—Glorfindel’s portrait would attract undue attention, and they both knew it. It would have been so even if he had been fully clothed and sitting on a chair, holding a scroll, as was the custom—Glorfindel was just too handsome and luminous to be easily overlooked.

“I shall see to it,” Erestor mumbled stubbornly and—patting his pocket—walked out of the room.

As soon as he had entered his own chambers, Erestor propped up the illicit picture against an unlit candle.

For a while, he paced around the room aimlessly to avoid letting his eyes drift back to it—it was just like Glorfindel to put everyone else into an impossible situation by submitting something so shockingly inappropriate.

How had he even found an artist willing to fashion such an obscene work of art? How much had he paid?

Giving in at last, Erestor snatched up the small rectangle of abhorrent debauchery and, bracing himself, gazed down on it.

As was to be expected, it depicted Glorfindel. Also foreseeable was the reference to Asfaloth, his noble and trusty steed. So far, so good.

Unfortunately, in a travesty surpassing even Erestor’s rich and varied vocabulary, the esteemed horse had been replaced by a garish statue of some kind which seemed to be neighing in frivolous delight.

The core of the problem which made the usually so dignified, nay even equanimous, librarian and counsellor blush with barely contained and only vaguely defined emotion, was the way Glorfindel had chosen to present himself.

“Where does one purchase such gaudy, meretricious, ostentatious apparel?” he grumbled as he stepped closer to the window to make out every lurid detail of Glorfindel’s get-up.

As far as he could make out, his fellow lord had gotten hold of a highly suspicious set of small clothes—seemingly fashioned from exquisite fabrics that looked so soft that Erestor could almost feel them beneath his fingertips—as well as some kind of stockings that rose higher than any Erestor had ever possessed himself.

In the privacy of his own chambers, he could freely admit that he resented the fact that his eyes were inexorably and helplessly drawn to the discreet frontier between the wispy fabric and Glorfindel’s creamy, flawless skin.

Furthermore, that golden-haired savage would not have been true to his reputation and genuine nature if he had not taken care to round off his look with a pair of ridiculously impractical but undeniably alluring heels.

Setting the picture down on the windowsill, Erestor began undoing his own stern hairdo with slightly trembling fingers while staring at the cloud of spun gold rippling down Glorfindel’s back and falling seductively over one almost invitingly cocked shoulder.

Unlike Erestor, Glorfindel had always known how to look his best in every situation. Disgustingly, enviably, impossibly so!

The smug, self-satisfied smile adorning that incontrovertibly gorgeous face made Erestor scowl in frustration—he had toiled so much and tried so hard to stay unaffected by Glorfindel’s charms, but this picture undid all his previous victories over the weakness of the flesh. He simply couldn’t pry his gaze off the curve of those strong thighs or ignore the allusive way the fabric insinuated and accentuated secret assets of Glorfindel’s body to which Erestor had given too much thought already during the darkest hours of the night.

It was not even that he was that naked, Erestor frantically tried to reason with himself. Realistically, the tight corsage covered most of his torso and the absence of actual leggings was almost compensated by the sheer length of those sinfully translucent stockings—nonetheless, it was the way the garments that were incontestably worn showcased and emphasised the luscious body underneath that drove Erestor to distraction.

When the light started failing and he seriously considered lighting a taper for the sole purpose of obsessing over Glorfindel’s portrait, Erestor realised how long he had held the picture in his cold fingers without so much as moving from his spot by the window.

Undoubtedly, he had missed the first course of dinner already and, anyway, he didn’t feel inclined to go down and look that shameless creature in the eye—secretly, the sober, dignified booklover was afraid his radiant colleague could simply read his mind and somehow divine just how easily his attention had been entirely captured by the revelation of a bit of skin.

Furtively, Erestor shoved the cliché into his pocket before walking over to his bed—surely, Elrond did not expect the finished album to be ready before the morrow and thus, he could ponder the infuriating matter of Glorfindel’s trespass a little longer.

He was almost successful in his attempt to convince himself that he’d manage to nullify the terrible, seductive draw the forbidden image had on his weak flesh and tottering mind by simply overthinking everything about it until an inevitable state of weariness and disgust would set in.

Indeed, that was what he would try to achieve. Lighting the candle on his bedside table and fluffing up his pillow, Erestor slipped out of his outer garments and into his bed to bend his mind to this monumental task.

“So, how did you like my portrait?” Glorfindel positively beamed at Elrond as he sauntered over in the middle of the meal.

“It was…unusual, to say the least,” Elrond replied diplomatically—the other counsellors had not seen the picture in question, and he’d rather not go into details in a space as open as the dining hall.

“What did you do with it? You didn’t destroy it, did you?” Big, wet eyes stared down at the Lord of Imladris who promptly wondered whether he had ever used that pleading expression on his parents or guardians inadvertently—it now seemed to him that it should be considered an armed assault and be subject to punishments of varying degrees of severity.

“No,” Elrond assuaged the visible distress of his exhibitionist friend. “Erestor has taken hold of it and shall paste it in an unobtrusive spot of the album.”

Letting his eyes roam over the heads in his quest for a new victim, Glorfindel had to realise with a jolt of genuine disappointment that the librarian was nowhere in attendance. “Where is he then?”

Elrond blinked slowly. “I know not. He took your outrageous picture and has retired to his chambers—I have not seen him since. Let’s hope that he has not been taken ill.”

As he caught the feline twitch of Glorfindel’s impressive frame, he held up an imperious hand. “If you intend to disturb Erestor’s privacy at this time of night,” he said warningly, “you better take up some dinner to ingratiate yourself to his potentially ill-humoured highness.”

“Splendid thinking,” Glorfindel cried, snatching an empty plate from under Elrond’s very nose, and dashing through the room at a mind-blowing speed.

So, I've chickened out of the spicier follow-up...thus far...

Let me hear what y'all think...

Lots of love from me!